A Pathetic Creature
by Nariko
Summary: Humans are fragile, pathetic creatures, and Roy Mustang is no exception. Oneshot. Detailed summary inside.


Hey peoples!!! This is my first-ever one-shot, as I prefer writing longer stories with many chapters, but I decided to give this a try. It concerns Roy Mustang, one of my favorite characters from FMA, and a little visit by Maes Hughes (my favorite!) at the end.

Summary: If you've followed the FMA series (I took this from the anime, though I'm pretty sure it's similar in the manga), you know that Roy Mustang took part in the Ishbal war, where he was ordered to kill many innocent people. Shortly afterwards, he fell into a depressed state and tried to atone for his sins by committing suicide. The plan failed, as Roy was too much of a coward to follow through. This is basically my interpretation of Roy's feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, its characters, or its plot. That goes for both the anime and the manga. Thank you.

Reviews would be much appreciated!

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A PATHETIC CREATURE

His dust-covered tomes cluttered the floor, their old, crumpled pages torn askew. Incomplete transmutation circles drawn in shaky chalk lines were scattered across the floor as well as the narrow walls. Two light bulbs hung from thin, swaying chains from the ceiling; one was completely burned out while the other emitted a dim light that flickered on and off. A chair lay on its side next to a dark wooden table, on which a dust-covered cup of coffee was tipped over, the cold drink dripping slowly onto a small puddle on the floor.

There, in the midst of it all, stood Roy Mustang. His face unshaven for one week and his black eyes glazed and half-closed, he made no effort to clean up the spill, though its steady dripping resounded in his ears like the annoying buzz of a generator. His pants hung loosely at his thinning waist, and his dirty, once white shirt remained unbuttoned. His figure hunched over as he trembled with the cold.

How long had it been since he locked himself in? Roy didn't know. Ever since he'd boarded up his window and smashed his clock, he'd lost all sense of time. Day and night held no meaning. Had he slept at all? It was as if he was in a permanent state of semi-consciousness; everything was always vague and hazy, and his awareness faded in and out without him ever realizing. Every now and then, he became aware of a dim wail of a harmonica coming from the apartment above his. However, it did nothing to ease his mind. It was a sorrowful tune, as if the instrument was crying along with his aching spirit.

Pain. That word had become his universe. His body had been the victim of numerous cuts and bruises, but those wounds were all superficial. His mind was the true victim, tormented by the fiery visions of his recent past, forever emblazoned in his being.

How many lives had he stolen in Ishbal? He'd lost count soon after the war began. Sometimes he wondered how he'd managed to last the whole way through. With his powerful alchemy, he was untouchable. At least, that's what he originally thought. Then he plunged headlong into the chain of death and blood, filled with faces he'd never be able to forget.

The visions and memories swirled through his mind, too fast for him to control, yet every image burst clearly into his mind before being brutally replaced by another.

A small desert village, on the outskirts of Ishbal… Villagers with dark skin and red eyes, happy and carefree, completely, totally unaware…

How he longed to go back in time, to a time where things were still normal and peaceful… But such times were far behind him now. The deed had been done. The horror had passed, and yet still was. And he could do nothing to stop it.

A piercing scream shatters the silence. Everything erupts into chaos. People panic, run, scream, yell. Fire engulfs the sand. Gunshots sound in the air. Everything blazes. Everything burns.

A whole race, gone. Was he to blame for it all?

A child clutches its mother, crying, coughing from the smoke, its eyes squeezed shut. The mother shields her baby in her arms, staring straight ahead, fearful but determined to save this poor unfortunate soul, the flames reflecting in her pleading eyes.

No, please – don't kill them –

Panic – gunshots –

Crying – screaming – running –

Help us –

Save us –

Smoke – fire –

A village destroyed – gone forever –

Pain – sorrow – anger –

People bleeding –

Blood spurting –

People dying –

Oh, no – please help –

No more death –

No more fire –

No more blood –

Fire everywhere –

No – no – no –

Sanctuary –

Let it be over –

Don't do it – don't kill them –

Crying – fear –

Gunshots –

Death everywhere –

Death and dying –

Too much smoke –

Can't see –

Don't do it –

No more –

No more –

Oh, please –

No –

"NOOOOO! -! -! -! -!"

Back to reality. He was on his elbows and knees, his nails clawing into his hair and scraping his scalp. His eyes were wide and bulging in their sockets. All of the torment and grief had accumulated into one large shockwave of agony that splintered his mind apart, bit by bit.

"No," he pleaded in a choked voice, hoarse from going days without a word. "Oh, no, please, stop."

A new question had risen from his broken mind, more prominent than the others: How could he ever atone for his sins? No matter what he did, nothing could satisfy him. Nothing could atone for the crimes he'd committed. There was nothing left for him to try. He had to face reality. Pain would haunt him for the rest of his miserable, worthless life. Unless…

He desperately reached out and pulled from an open desk drawer his gun, the one he'd received when he earned his certification as a State Alchemist. Yes…would this end his suffering at long last? It seemed to be the only way. To make the pain go away… Nothing else mattered now, he thought as he brought the weapon to his mouth. Anything to end the pain… Oh, please, just let it end… Anything…

This was it. One click, and it would all be over. He rose to his feet, his vision blinded by tears and pain. There was just too much… Too much of a burden for one pathetic man to carry alone… Only a few more moments, and he could finally end it all.

He closed his eyes, swaying on his feet. His finger twitched against the trigger. He waited. The twitch faded. He took a deep breath of the musty air. One musty breath to be his last…

Again, his finger twitched. His brain was screaming, yelling, Just do it, pull the trigger and it will all be over! But his body had frozen. Was it due to the pain? Suddenly his hand was trembling, and then his arm. Soon the tremors ran through his entire body.

His hand shook violently, so much that he was forced to drop the gun onto the table, where it clanged, sending a vibration through the wood. The coffee cup rolled off the edge and shattered.

Roy Mustang fell to his knees, staring up at the flickering light directly above him. He couldn't do it. He'd never felt more determined to end his miserable life, and yet he couldn't do it. Fear had driven him to act, and yet that same fear had held him back. And he knew that fear could never fade away.

The pain vanished, replaced by a cold numbness that swept through his body and soul. The ordeal was over, but never had he felt so empty inside.

A low chuckle escaped him. "Heh…is this what I've come to?" he chided himself, muttering darkly. "I guess it shows what a miserable coward I am…"

There was a knock on the door. The first knock in ages. At first, he wondered if he should simply ignore it, but something deep within him drove him to make his way through the clutter to unlock the door.

It was Hughes.

He stared at Roy for a few seconds, and Roy couldn't blame him. What a pathetic sight I must be, he thought grimly.

Finally Hughes' look softened. He held up a fruity-smelling parcel in a basket. "I got my girlfriend to make you an apple pie," he offered with a smile.

Roy couldn't help but smile a little as well, but it was a hollow one, without any real emotion behind it. He let him in.

Hughes looked around at the mess, and his face darkened as the realization dawned upon him. He looked up from the gun lying motionless at the table and struggled for a moment to speak.

"Roy…"

"I had it in my mouth, Maes, but I couldn't do it," Roy sighed. "I couldn't pull the trigger. See what a coward I am? Humans are such pathetic creatures."

Hughes remained silent for a while. "Perhaps," he finally said. "But we do what we can."

Do what we can… What could he do? What could he do to make things right? No matter how hard he tried, he could never change the past. But could he act now, in the present, to change the future? He wondered if he had the courage. Or was he still just a wretched coward?

He'd taken so many lives. Nothing could atone for that. But if he had the guts to kill, heaven be damned if he didn't have the courage to save lives instead.

He'd decided. It was time he got off his sorry ass and did something.

"I'm going to become the Fuhrer, Maes," he said suddenly. "I'll change how this whole country runs. You'll see."

Hughes smiled. "Now that sounds like a plan," he said. "And I'll work under you, stay close to the higher-ups, and push you to the top. Sound good?"

Finally, Roy Mustang was able to muster a true smile. "Yeah."


End file.
